A Snag


It is so difficult to go clothes shopping sometimes.  An armful of clothes full of hope enter the dressing room.  But with each garment that is too big, or too tight that lands on the floor the hope crashes.  And you start looking at yourself in the mirror as if it’s not the clothes that are wrong but it’s you.  You are too big there, and too little here.  I’m in the best shape since I was a kid and I still do this.  I blame myself instead of the stupid clothes.  And then with one last piece you slip it on and it seems perfect.  The smile returns along with more positive thoughts.  But on the way to the check out, you look down at this one-of-a-kind blouse that you’ve quickly fallen in love with and you see something you didn’t want to see.  Damn.  A snag.  No, no, no, no…..Not a snag.

You stop in the middle of the aisle and make everyone go around you as you look closely at the top to examine the damage.  Is it really all that bad?  Can it be fixed?  Does it really show all that much?  Is it in the front, back, under the arm?  Damn.  If it isn’t terrible you think maybe they’ll give you a discount for it at the register and if it is your heart breaks as you put it back on the rack and leave it at the store.  Sometimes you even dream of that blouse and wish you just hadn’t even seen that snag because sometimes ignorance is bliss.

Harry and I have been stitching our pieces of fabric together.  His loose and rough and my frayed piece of polished cotton and we’ve hit a snag.  Damn.

When I wrote And So it Goes… I realized that I was putting my fragile heart in Harry’s hands to do with it what he would.  Last night something happened that was upsetting.  It wasn’t planned, it probably couldn’t have been avoided but it was upsetting nonetheless.  It gave me pause because it is a complication.  No one wants a complication.  A complication in a surgery means a much longer and more precarious event.  I wanted smooth sailing, full-speed ahead, all systems go.

So now what?  What do I do?  I realize that loose fabric does snag easier.  And rough fabric collects more lint, and particles that hang on making it look dirty.  Sometimes you just need to get that roll of tape out and remove all the foreign particles.  Maybe that is all we need to do.  Problem is…that is the nature of loose fabric.  It collects hangers-on.  And polished cotton is slippery…things don’t stick as easy.

It’s a fundamental different between us.  Loose fabric is more flexible too.  It morphs and changes and molds itself depending on the circumstances.  Polished cotton doesn’t have as much give.  In order to fit it has to be just the right shape and size.  I hate polished cotton.  And I’m back to hating myself for not being different from what I am…only because if I could just see something different…there is no problem.

It’s my brain that gets in the way.  If something doesn’t make sense to my brain I can’t see it.

Damn.  I really hate finding snags in things I love.  I hate it.  I feel a little sick to my stomach today.  I didn’t get much sleep last night.  My mind wouldn’t shut off.

This happened the same day I got really bad news about my friend and coworker who is battling cancer.  He is fighting for his life.  And he has definitely been faced with complications.  He has spiraled down so quickly it is breathtakingly alarming.  His multiple myeloma is winning and he is in so much pain.  I’m afraid he is losing his 4 week battle.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  It breaks my heart.  I think of his wife of 30 years and his three kids and one infant grandbaby and imagine the horror they feel inside of their hearts.

And then I get angry because these snags should not stop us from being with the people we love.  We shouldn’t let any snag fester to the point of fraying.  Just deal with it, cut it out, fix it so we can keep loving.  Because I guarantee that my friend in any lucid thought he is able to generate, is not thinking about anything other than those precious people he loves most in this world and they him.

At the end of our life only two things matter.  Not money, or jobs, or possessions.  Not status, or even where you live and definitely not petty arguments that meant nothing.  And it isn’t how many people we know or have known….All we really care about is the people who are most precious to us…our family.  Sometimes that is our family of choice instead of the one we are born into.  And secondly it’s our relationship with God Almighty.

Life is so short and times like this bring the mother hen out in me wanting to collect all the precious people in my life under my wings to try to protect them from harm so I can enjoy them for as long as possible.

At times like this I get even more focused on what I see as my purpose in life.  Cut out anything that doesn’t fit that purpose because it is as the Bible says in Hebrews 12:1,  weight that easily ensnares us.  I want to face my creator in Heaven and hear, “well done good and faithful servant.”

Today my heart is heavy as I pray for peace and comfort for my friend who I’m afraid is in his last days.  And I pray for focus, for clarity, for direction from God, trusting that He will show me what to do next.  I’m stopped in the middle of the aisle stooped over my shopping cart and whoever encounters  me today will have to just go around me because today I’m not going anywhere.  My mind is turning and churning as I examine this snag and try to decide if I need to put the garment back….or hopefully find out it’s fixable.

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